


Sens de l'humour

by HaxanHexes (PineNeedles)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Minor Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 14:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7621219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PineNeedles/pseuds/HaxanHexes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lena Oxton has a terrible sense of humour. Her girlfriend and murderess Amélie Lacroix "hates" it. Also, Amélie sometimes has difficulty sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sens de l'humour

**Author's Note:**

> A little fluff piece for Widowtracer. Because they deserve nice things as well as angst.
> 
> See the end notes for translations of the French.
> 
> Notes on how I write Amélie: I'm writing Amélie as a trauma survivor with PTSD. Widowmaker wasn't a different personality, she was a victimized Amélie Lacroix enduring an unimaginable situation, and found ways to survive and feel alive-ish within it. Who she is circa this fic isn't the old Amélie Lacroix, magically recovered as if her trauma never happened, but the recovering sum of her experiences as Amélie, Widowmaker, and everything that has come since. She's not most people's idea of a good person, but she doesn't care to be. She is who she has to be to survive and Lena loves her for it.

Sleep does not come easily to Amélie Lacroix. It was simpler when she was with Talon. She would often dissociate between missions, and there were pills they gave her to sink her into dreamless slumbers.  
  
It’s more complicated now; she feels things, she has nightmares. Even with Lena Oxton snuggly wrapped in her arms, it’s difficult. She leans into Lena’s warmth and watches as the chronal accelerator’s glow casts shadows on the walls. She closes her eyes.  
  
“Ami?”  
  
She opens them again at the murmur of Lena’s voice. “ _Oui, chérie?_ ” she asks.  
  
“What ‘appened to the frog who parked illegally?” Lena asks, her voice louder now  
  
Amélie’s brow furrows. “ _Je suis perdue_ ,” she says as she tries to ascertain _why_ Lena has decided to ask such an absurd question at 2:00 a.m.  
  
“What happened to the frog who parked his car illegally?” Lena asks again, her diction clearer this time.  
  
Amélie lifts her head from the pillow and looks down at Lena in complete bafflement. The smaller woman twists around and looks up at her, an impish smirk on her face.  
  
“He got toad!” she exclaims and breaks into a fit of giggling.  
  
Amélie can only stare at her lover in disbelief once she’s finished processing the pun. She pushes Lena out of the bed.  
  
There’s a yip of surprise as Lena hits the floor. She rewinds time quickly, slipping back into bed next to Amélie. The former assassin scooches over, places one prosthetic heel at the small of Lena’s back and kicks her to the floor again.  
  
“C’mon! That was funny,” Lena says in protest, still giggling as she lies tangled in blankets on the hardwood.  
  
“Sleep on the couch,” Amélie says flatly.  
  
“Aw, luv!” Lena whimpers.  
  
“ _Vas-tu_! The couch.”  
  
Lena stands and starts to shuffle out dejectedly.  
  
“The blanket, Lena,” Amélie demands.  
  
Lena returns to the bedside and hands Amélie the blankets. Before Lena can turn away, Amélie hooks a finger in one strap of Lena’s tank top and pulls her in close. “I love you, _chérie_ ,” she whispers huskily, “but before you bother me with such foolishness again, remember I still know how to handle a rifle.”  
  
Lena blushes visibly in the dim blue light of her accelerator. Amélie kisses her goodnight and shoos her off, before curling up in the blankets and closing her eyes.  
  
Sometimes Lena makes it easier to sleep. Sometimes she makes it harder.

 

Amélie Lacroix is on her knees on their buildings’ roof. The hot sun beating down on her is enough to make her feel comfortably warm; even with Dr. Ziegler’s treatments she still gets cold easily. The peace and warmth of the rooftop garden have become a welcome respite for Amélie. Once she overcame her anxiety about it being vulnerable to sniper fire, that is.  
  
She digs her dirt caked hands into the freshly turned soil, creating a small furrow big enough for a tulip bulb. Much like sniping, gardening is exacting and requires patience. Every plant likes a certain amount of light, of water; it takes time to grow.  
  
She compares it mentally to judging the appropriate vantage and angle from which to take a shot; given weather conditions, the target, the amount of public exposure… She would use different rounds for human targets than for Omnics, for a man in a bulletproof vest than for a woman in nothing but a pantsuit.  
  
Perhaps the parallels are a reach, but the familiarity is welcome. She positions the tulip bulb just so, and covers it over with dirt. She gardens with her bare hands as much as she’s able; the luxury of sensation not wasted on her, even when it may be overwhelming.  
  
There’s the click of the rooftop door opening and Amélie spins around. “ _Mon dieu, chérie_! You surprised me.”  
  
“Sorry, luv,” Lena says as she makes her way across the rooftop. “Got home and noticed you were missin’. Thought I might find y’here.”  
  
Amélie hums and turns her attention back to the freshly planted bulbs, picking up her watering can and wetting the soft earth. “I finished planting my tulips,” she says as she busies herself.  
  
“Guess yer garden an’ yer face have that in common, then!” Lena quips.  
  
Amélie looks up at Lena, perplexed yellows eyes searching the other’s face from under a sun hat. “ _Comment?_ ” she asks.  
  
“You both have tulips!” Lena says and grins.  
  
Amélie stares at her in disbelief. “This is more of your… humour.”  
  
“Yeah!” Lena exclaims. “Do y’get it? Tulips… Two lips…”  
  
Amélie’s mouth purses into a hard line. “Do not test me, _chérie_ ,” she says flatly. “It is a long drop to the pavement.”  
  
She stands and brushes past Lena, who has already started protesting. “That was my best one yet, c’mon! I’ll make it up to ya! Lemme kiss your tulips.”  
  
Amélie opens the door and turns to her _pétite_ _ennuyance_. “I have four lips, _mon amour_ ,” she says. “And you’ll be touching none if you keep this up.”  
  
She closes the door behind her on Lena’s panicked begging and smiles to herself.

 

Lena Oxton has been gone for days, and Amélie Lacroix is suffering through another sleepless night alone. She swirls the remainder of the red wine in her glass and sips it down. She checks the bottle on the bedside table—empty. She sighs.  
  
Ever since being taken by Talon, Amélie has clung to her survival instinct. She can endure anything, _do_ anything she needs to to persist. She has a suffocating need for control. She teased it out of her position at Talon and ensured she would keep it when she escaped them.  
  
But something about Lena erodes that control; she finds herself wanting and needing the perky British woman. It scares her sometimes. Her love for Lena is the most overwhelming thing she feels, and there are times when she desperately wishes to leave in the middle of the night.  
  
She knows she won’t. She would miss Lena, and as much satisfaction as she takes in “breaking” Lena beneath a cane or a riding crop, she couldn’t break her heart. Still, the vast loneliness she feels when on her own is a discomforting vulnerability.  
  
Sometimes Lena makes it easier to sleep. Sometimes she makes it harder.  
  
Amélie rests her cheek on one fist and stares out the window. Suddenly, her phone rings. It’s Lena. She tries not to answer too quickly, and disguises the eagerness in her voice with a well-honed monotone.  
  
“ _Oui_?” she answers.  
  
“Luv!” Lena practically shouts. “Mission’s done, I’m safe. Should be home soon, eh?”  
  
“Well done, _chérie_ ,” Amélie says. “Did you kill anyone?”  
  
“Uh… Yes.” Lena laughs awkwardly. “Y’know, I’ve never had a girlfriend get so chuffed about kills.”  
  
“You’ve dated boring women,” Amélie replies.  
  
Lena awkward laugh turns into a bubbly giggle. “Yer an odd duck, Amélie Lacroix. But I’ve missed you, y’know? I love you, an’ I wouldn’t change you for the world.”  
  
“Nor I you, _chérie_ ,” Amélie says. She pauses—the words she wants to say are still difficult for her. “I’ve missed you, also,” she finishes finally, the ache uncomfortably apparent in her tone, “I love you, too.”  
  
“I’ll be home soon, luv,” Lena says warmly. “G’night.”  
  
“ _Bonne nuit_ ,” Amélie replies. There’s a click as the line goes dead.  
  
Amélie curls her legs up against her chest and drums her fingers on one knee. She picks her phone up and stares at it. Should she?  
  
She does, dialing Lena back and listening intently to the ringing on the line.  
  
“Been a bit, eh luv?” Lena answers. Amélie rolls her eyes. “What’s up?”  
  
“Tell me a joke, _chérie_ ,” Amélie says quietly.  
  
“Ooh, okay,” Lena says and hums to herself as she thinks. “Ah, got one! Why would y’wanna throw me out a window?”  
  
“Because you are an annoyance?”  
  
“No, silly!” Lena says, ignoring the jab. “To see time fly.” She laughs.  
  
Amélie groans loudly. “You are awful, _mon amour_. I’m going to sleep.”  
  
“Love you, too!” Lena says before Amélie hangs up on her.  
  
Amélie turns off the bedside lamp and curls up under the covers. _To see time fly_ , she thinks. _Incroyable_. A smile curls on her lips, and she lets out a throaty laugh in the safety of her solitude.  
  
She closes her eyes, and slowly drifts off.  She dreams of her lover coming home to her.  
  
Sometimes Lena makes it more difficult to sleep, but usually she makes it easier.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at http://sleepytimegalpal.tumblr.com/
> 
> Translations:
> 
> "Je suis perdue" = "I am confused" [Literally: "I am lost"]
> 
> "Vas-tu!" = "Go!"
> 
> "Mon dieu" = "My God"
> 
> "Comment?" = "Pardon?"
> 
> "pétite ennuyance" = "little annoyance"
> 
> "Bonne nuit" = "Good night"
> 
> "Incroyable" = "Unbelievable"


End file.
